Tattered and Torn


Scarlet eyes, a doorway to her soul.
She closes it from the world,
behind a heavy lid,
a thick lash line,
a Vampire’s threshold.

Her pupils,
stare into dreams that blur as nightmares from her past.
That canvas white of rolled eyes,
allows you to paint,
a picture,
a fright,
a lust,
a soul to delight your imagination.
Those dreams overflow with emotion.

Control.

They fight,
they battle,
from love,
for love,
because of love.

Her waterlines flood,
spill out her iris,
her heart.
She cups her chest,
so it does not break apart.

The pain cascades through her,
the want becomes unbearable
desire uncontrollable,
the function is mindless without her.

Her nightmare now becomes
your dream,
your desire,
your fire.
Tattered and torn.
The noir shadows,
the battle dust to war

Her great white hair,

a stand,

a cape,
her veil,
her belief to storms weathered.

A survivor,
an elder.

Refocuses your thought from hardened youth,
to a sleepless whore,
repeated encounters.
A soldiers past,
a Sergeant,
a General of her craft.

Her purity is soiled from the roughness of concrete.
Inside she remains soft as silk,
a kitten lapping milk.
Until,
the night encounters her to climb the stairway.
With naked breasts,
hueless eyes,
that cadaverous body,
tattered torn,
as your succubus,
is born

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Photo credit : 2013 Luis Royo. March 2014 Calendar.

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